Val Muller

The Electronic Wordsmith

Browsing Posts published by Val

A colleague loaned me this YA book to read. It’s one that is sometimes taught in high schools, so I was interested to read it. First of all, there are profanities and derogatory language in the book, so you’ve got to like, or at least tolerate, grittiness to read this book. This book is very real, and it doesn’t white-wash anything, so if that isn’t your cuppa, then perhaps pick up a different book. Because it is so real, though, I could see many students relating to it and enjoying it. With its powerful male narrator, I could also see it appealing to reluctant male readers as well.

The book follows TJ, a boy who has been adopted and is battling anger issues, as he starts a swim team at his high school. The team ends up being composed of a group of misfits. Over the course of the novel, they come together, using their bus rides to swim meets as bonding time. But the novel isn’t just about a misfit team—that underdog sports story has been done before. This one focuses more on TJ as the leader of that team as he reconciles other issues in his life.

What I enjoyed was all the gray area in the book. For instance, I love TJ’s ambition. He fights for the truth and for freedom when he sees injustice in the world, but as his mom points out, he has anger issues that don’t always let him see rationally. He’ll stand up for abused girlfriends, for instance, not realizing that if they don’t report their boyfriends for abuse, there is nothing TJ can do. It’s almost as if he wants to save everyone from everything wrong with the world. He is reminded by his adoptive parents, neither of whom is perfect, either, that there is more to life than black or white.

He also stands up to the culture of his school, which is something that really resonates with me—standing up for what you believe in regardless of what others think or do. Part of the reason TJ agrees to start the swim team is that one of the boys who becomes a swimmer, Chris, has been criticized by the athletes and coaches for wearing a letterman jacket that belonged to his brother (now deceased). In the culture of the school, one is not supposed to wear a letterman jacket unless one has earned it. Chris is mentally challenged, and his brother’s jacket gives him comfort. TJ can’t fathom why the coaches and athletes simply can’t leave him alone to wear the jacket. And thus his plan—to invite Chris onto the swim team, where he can earn his own jacket.

TJ has a strong personality that dominates the book. His voice comes through strongly in the first-person narration. If you like him, you will like the book. I found he came off a bit rough at first, but as the novel progressed, I came to understand where he was coming from, and by the end I was rooting for him and turning the pages faster. I won’t give away the ending, but it is a coming-of-age tale with a poignant and satisfying conclusion.

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The corgis enjoying some summer peace.

So many people have been talking about and posting about how happy they are that it is summer–and many of them primarily because summer affords us the time to do one of my favorite activities:

Read.

 

When I was a kid, my dad built me a treehouse. I remember going up there to read often. There’s just something calming and invigorating about hearing the wind rustle through the summer leaves, the way the birds and crickets chirp, the way the sunlight filters through the trees and makes dancing patterns of light against everything. There’s so much life out there in summer that on a summer afternoon, it’s hard to believe it ever was–or ever will be–winter.

Books seem to possess that inherent quality of summer–the quality of life, of being alive. Reading a book helps us to see the elements of the human condition that run through us all. The ability never to give up. To dream. To pursue.

To celebrate summer and all the freedoms it affords us, I’ve put together a giveaway with some of my author friends. Lots of prizes up for grabs. Good luck, and happy reading!

Enter the giveaway here:
a Rafflecopter giveaway

The prompt for this month is to use all five of the following words in a story: sand, sea, cartwheels, tequila, and sunburn. Today’s story comes from Cathy MacKenzie. Cathy’s most recent publication, BETWEEN THESE PAGES, is a compilation of 18 short stories. The book is available on Amazon and Smashwords. (Watch for her next book of short stories, out soon!)

 

Waves of Darkness

Kay watched waves cartwheel onto the shore. Shivering and wishing she had a tissue, she swiped at grey hairs matted in tears. If she wore a sweater, she’d have one stuck up her sleeve. Sleeves came in handy, both for proximity of tissues and warmth.

She was slowly dying. As everyone was. Who knew when a vehicle might zoom around the corner. Or when that madman might appear.

Or when God would call.

The doctor gave her a year, but she figured that meant six months, even less if the cancer spread faster. Who but God could say with certainty?

Kay believed in God. With death looming, she had to. Suddenly, God was her best friend. God won’t take kindly to that, she thought, upset she hadn’t spent more time with Him, but perhaps He wouldn’t forsake her. Despite being a late bloomer, maybe He’d let her enter His kingdom, even though it wouldn’t be fair to decades-old believers.

It couldn’t be easy being one of God’s chosen creatures—to be continually good and kind. Was it all a façade? Kay didn’t know any perfect people, not ones who would be granted immediate access to Heaven. But that was hogwash; everyone religious spouted goodness, despite how they truly felt. Then there were the atheists and those in between, like her, who believed in something though unsure exactly what.

Could God read minds? Kay had never vocalized she didn’t believe, never said she did either. Her thoughts were her secrets, but a true God would be powerful enough to see through her.

Kay possessed no special powers, but her mind had always wandered into the future and wondered “what ifs.” She had never seen herself older than today, which made sense because there would be no tomorrow. She spoke metaphorically. She hadn’t seen this exact day, but she had never seen herself older than the present, never saw a frail woman in a rocker or limping with a cane. Had she truly been clairvoyant, she could have lived differently. She might have eaten healthier, trashed alcohol and cigarettes, prevented sunburns.

The sun. She glanced up, her eyes blinded. Cancer, horrid dreaded cancer—that big C of concern. Funny how she’d never been touched (as the phrase goes) by cancer as others had, yet, here she was, struck down with it herself. Not a friend or a relative—her.

Kay approached the water’s edge. Could she do it? She should have guzzled the remainder of the tequila. The little she drank wasn’t having much effect.

She pictured Frank relaxing before the television. “I’m going for a walk,” she had told him. Frank didn’t seem to care. I love you, she mouthed as she left.

She hadn’t told him of her diagnosis. She didn’t want sweaty hand-holding or sweet smelling flowers—none of which would dull her pain or cause happiness. She wanted to run far away to escape her plight. Or scream. The beach was deserted. No one would hear.

The ice cold water would be invigorating, perhaps knock some sense into her. But, no. Today was it. The end of her life. She sighed. Could she do it?

Wind blew the delicate top layer of sand across her bare feet. The sea’s song pounded at her ears. Menacing waves frothed onto the beach and darkened the sand. Each wave reminded her of a petal: he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me….

Kay had been alone with the doctor when she received the prognosis. Frank wasn’t home when she returned. When Frank arrived, she didn’t want to rehash her tears. I’ll tell him later, she thought. Later hadn’t come. Until now. This was her later. Frank’s, too, though he’d have a future later.

“I must do it now,” Kay muttered. I can’t put Frank through this agony. Nor me. I want to go quickly.

She glanced back at the cottage. With summer over, it looked as dead as she felt.

White caps bounced in the distance. She’d only have to reach one to be carried to oblivion. She dipped her toe into the frigid water, then stumbled in. Just to my waist, she thought. Just a few more feet.

When the water reached her knees, she was suddenly yanked backward. A voice bellowed, “What are you doing?”

Frank?

“Kay, you crazy! It’s cold in here.”

Frank grabbed hold of her. Kay struggled, but Frank held her tight while he dragged her to shore.

“It’ll be okay,” he said.

 

The Spot Writers – our members:

 

RC Bonitz

http://www.rcbonitz.com

 

Val Muller

https://valmuller.com/blog

 

Catherine A. MacKenzie

http://www.writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter

 

Kathy L. Price

website under construction

 

Wow, I really enjoyed this book. It’s hard to write about without spoilers, though. So here’s the short version—without spoilers. For spoilers, you’ll have to scroll down.

I picked up this novel because it was recommended by a literary agent at a writing conference I attended. When I noticed the low price and the Newberry status, I decided to give it a shot.

The novel follows a sixth-grader named Miranda. She grew up in New York City in the 1970s. (When I learned this, I was surprised to learn that this is a modern book—not written in the 1970s.) Miranda has a single mother with a boyfriend who isn’t quite allowed to have a key to the apartment. Her mother is so excited to receive an invitation to appear on a game show, on which she hopes to win lots of money.

There are strange things that happen in this novel: the apartment’s spare key goes missing, Miranda finds notes in her pockets and in other locations, and she keeps talking to an unknown “you” throughout the novel. As an adult reading this, I put the clues together before the end. There are lots of clue. If you think about Chekov’s Gun, the ending should be easy to predict, but I’m not sure if a sixth-grader would be able to figure it out as easily. If you’re reading this review, and your children have read this book, I would love for you to comment about how they enjoyed it.

When I first started reading, I wasn’t sure why this book won a Newberry. I had trouble getting through the first few chapters. I felt like the level of detail just didn’t feel right, but I excused it since it’s told through the POV of a sixth grader. But then the book picked up. For me, what made it all worthwhile is how it all came together at the end. A seemingly realistic novel turned out to have a quite fantastical ending—and yet, it was foreshadowed plenty, so as a reader, I didn’t feel tricked. Now, I like twisted, fantastical stories. If you want a story that stays in the realm of proven reality, the ending might put you off. But as for me, I loved it, and I am forcing two people I know to read it just so I can have someone to talk to about it 🙂

And now, for the spoiler. If you don’t want to learn the ending, stop reading here.

 

Spoiler ahead

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Spoilers

Are you sure?

Because I would totally recommend that you read it yourself…

You sure?

Okay. Spoilers:

Throughout the novel, Miranda keeps receiving notes that look like they have been wet. The notes suggest that the person writing them knows her future and has returned to save her friend and himself. Throughout the novel, she is asked (by these notes) to write down as many details as she can about the incidents she is currently experiencing. In the meantime, there are lots of “clues” that this is actually a sci-fi story: one of her friends is making a model spaceship. Another boy is interested in higher math. And her favorite story, A Wrinkle In Time, which is referenced over and over again, involves time travel, which she discusses many times with a friend.

In the end, we learn that this is indeed a time travel story. The person writing the notes is actually one of Miranda’s friends, and he learns of the premature death of a classmate. He returns to the past (the 1970s) as an old man to save the boy’s life. What I really liked about this twist has to do with my fascination with time travel: that if someone were to travel in time, they would always have traveled in time, so they are forever present in the “time” they traveled to, even if they didn’t leave yet. I love examining that paradox.

We learn that Miranda hasn’t yet written the story, which she will eventually give to her friend so that he can (as an old man) save her classmate. But as she learns, she eventually will have written the note, since the old man does arrive to save her friend. When looking for a larger theme that doesn’t necessarily relate to time travel, I like the idea that we are not stuck in our own situations: there is always a chance to make our futures better or make the world a better place. And that theme makes me smile.

The prompt for this month is to use all of the following five words in a story: sand, sea, cartwheels, tequila, sunburn.

Today’s post comes from Val Muller, author of Faulkner’s Apprentice, Corgi Capers, and The Scarred Letter.

* * *

Tequila Breeze

By Val Muller

Since she was a girl, Maureen wanted to live by the sea. She always pictured it: a Gothic Revival with a wrap-around porch. It would be mostly wooden, so it would require much care, being near the sea. She’d paint the trim some stand-out color like sea foam or turquoise or coral. Depending how close it was to the ocean, it might even be on stilts, allowing for parking beneath. When she was a kid, she even drew pictures of it. She named it the way all the important beach houses were named: Tequila Breeze. She picked the name as a kid, before she even knew what tequila was, to her parents’ chagrin.

Her parents laughed at the name after a while, and they laughed when they asked her if she had any idea how much a house like that would cost, especially so close to the beach. For a girl, a million dollars is just as much as a thousand, and just as possible as finding a house named Tequila Breeze. Her parents shook their heads and thought about how cute she was, like wanting to be an astronaut or a princess. They didn’t take her seriously.

Neither did her husband, when he decided to take the job far from the ocean.

“West Virginia?” she had repeated, stunned. “That state doesn’t even have a coast.”

“No, but it’s a great job for great pay. Besides, housing there is much cheaper than housing at the beach. You could get a mansion for the price of a seaside bungalow.”

Maureen frowned. True, if they lived near the ocean, all they could afford would be a bungalow. The one they had rented last summer fell far short of her grand vision for a Gothic Revival.

“Anyway, all the beach offers is sand and sunburns, and do you know how much higher the insurance is for a place that prone to flooding?”

“But sand is perfect for cartwheels and tanning, and—Tequila Breeze is supposed to be on stilts,” she whispered.

“Tequila what?” He shook his head. “Anyway, pack your bags, we’re going house hunting this weekend.”

That was six months ago. They’d chosen a large house—a Gothic Revival with a wrap-around porch. Maureen tried not to smile too much when she realized it was almost exactly what had been in her mind since childhood, only instead of a sprawling ocean, the house looked out over a wide meadow, with mountains in place of an endless horizon. When James left that morning, at sunrise, she tried not to admit how stunning she found the mountain view.

Now, they’d owned the house for all of four days, and they’d slept in it only once. James was already away at work, getting acclimated to his new position. The movers were scheduled to come this weekend, the delay intentional to allow Maureen to paint some of the rooms. The house’s palate was muted crèmes, tan and beige and white and eggshell. It was nothing like what a seaside retreat would look like.

But it also wasn’t a seaside retreat.

The selling point of the house for Maureen had been the loft in the attic. The previous owners had used it as a dance studio for their daughter, and now it was wide open, the hardwood floors finished and stained, the walls covered on one side with mirrors. Maureen now she sat on the floor of the dance studio, peering up at the sky through one of the windows. That high, almost at the roofline, Maureen felt like a bird inspecting her domain. From where she sat, only the fields and mountains were visible, and not another body or house could be seen.

The paints spread before her—she’d bought them entirely herself and wanted to surprise James. She’d dabbled in painting through high school and even some in college. Life hadn’t allowed her to spend much time pursuing it as a career, only now, with James’ salary and the affordable mortgage…

She shook her head. Her dream was the ocean, she reminded herself.

But maybe she’d gotten it wrong.

She opened the first can, a deep aqua. Then she popped open the second, a greenish-blue. She smiled at the name. Sea foam.

The ability to paint came back to her as if she had never stopped practicing. The waves of the ocean reflected behind her in the mirrors as she painted, created infinite peaks around her. On the short wall, she used Gobi Desert and Toasted Pine to create sand dunes and dune grass. She even added the bright pink cart of an ice cream vendor she remembered from childhood.

As the sun sunk low beneath the mountains, Maureen had nearly finished. James would be home soon, and she couldn’t wait to show him her retreat, her new hideaway, her new painting studio. But first, one finishing touch.

She used an ebony-brown to create the sign that would serve as the entrance to her dream home, and she painted it right at the doorway leading out of the attic. In crème-colored font across the dark sign, she wrote, just as she always envisioned it sparkling in the sun:

Tequila Breeze,

A Paradise on Earth

* * *

 

The Spot Writers – our members:

 

RC Bonitz

http://www.rcbonitz.com

Val Muller

https://valmuller.com/blog

Catherine A. MacKenzie

http://www.writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter

Kathy L. Price

website under construction

 

 

I re-read this book for a YA/kidlit class I’m teaching later this month. Gary Paulsen was one of my favorite authors as a kid. I devoured each of his books, loving the way his characters expanded their horizons to develop skills needed to survive life-or-death situations while under the age of sixteen.

The Voyage of the Frog follows a boy named David. Fourteen years old, he has been sailing with his Uncle Owen—old-school sailing on a boat called the Frog. The beginning of the book opens with some poignant scenes: Uncle Owen is dying of cancer and has less than two weeks to live. His dying wish is that David take the Frog out, alone, to scatter Owen’s ashes after his death. David, who learns he will be inheriting the ship, must go out far enough so that no land is visible.

After he scatters his uncle’s ashes, an unexpected storm hits, sending him far off track to the south. The rest of the book follows David’s journey—both the physical journey and the coming-of-age internal journey as he survives with just a few cans of food and limited water.

I’m using this book in my workshop as part of a lesson on the hero’s journey and how YA and kidlit can be used to teach the basic stages of the archetypal journey. Like most of Paulsen’s books, this one fits the journey well; Brian develops externally and internally.

Though his books are obviously meant for boys, I loved them as a girl. The issues the characters confront are universal to humans and not exclusive to males. I recommend his books to readers of all ages, and this one is a quick read that you won’t want to put down.

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month the prompt is to use sand, sea, cartwheels, tequila, and sunburn in the story.

Today’s contribution comes from RC Bonitz, author of A BLANKET FOR HER HEART. 
 

Tequila Man

by RC Bonitz

 

Without wind the sea was calm, the sand hot enough to warm the blanket she was lying on. Little kids doing cartwheels kept flipping sand on her back. She had to turn over soon or she’d get a sunburn on her back, but a face-full of sand held no appeal whatsoever. Jeanie debated–find another spot to drop her blanket or yell at the kids? Asking nicely hadn’t worked so far. Damn, this beach used to be deserted, almost like a private place all her own.

“Knock it off you guys. Get lost.”

The voice was male, deep and fierce. The kids moved. She rolled over, popped her wide straw hat on her head, and studied the guy standing beside her. Tall, nice looking, dark hair, dark eyes with a burnished tan all over a nice set of rippling muscles. God’s gift to womanhood, she could see it in the smug smile on his face.

“Thank you,” she said, giving him a cool smile.

“Tequila?” He held up a bottle and two plastic cups.

“No thanks.”

His smile became a very confident grin. “You come here often?”

Oh hell. One itty-bitty good deed entitled him to a pickup? Nooo. “Occasionally.”

“I never noticed you before.”

Okay, enough of that. Polite and civil, but only that for the moment. “Oh?”

“Yeah. You’re so beautiful, I couldn’t have missed you.”

How obvious could he be? Remember, polite. Civil. He did you a favor. “Well, apparently you did.”

He nodded, still smiling. “What’s your name?”

Okay, enough. “Who wants to know?”

He shifted the bottle to the other hand, squeezing it and the cups together, then offered a handshake. “I’m Greg Hawkins.”

She let his hand hang out there by its lonesome. “Hi.”

He drew back the hand and stared at her. “You married or something?”

“No.”

“Having a bad day?”

“Nope.” Well, it was okay up to now. She didn’t say that, didn’t have to be nasty about it.

He grimaced. “It’s just me then? I turn you off?”

She almost said yes, but studied him instead. She didn’t like guys who thought their masculine charm would overwhelm her, but she wasn’t mean. “Actually, it has been a bad day.”

He squatted down beside her.

Oh great, she’d given him an opening.

He hesitated before he spoke, then went right ahead. “Would you promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“You’ll keep coming back to this beach?”

“Why should I do that?”

“So I can meet you on a good day.”

She stared at him. He seemed so earnest, so concerned, so—intense. “You don’t give up, do you?”

He smiled, a nice, modest, friendly smile. “Not when something is important.”

Damn… She’d probably regret this, but what the hell. “Jeanie Simone.”

“What?”

“That’s my name. I’ll take some of that tequila now.”

 

 

The Spot Writers- our members.

 

 

RC Bonitz

http://www.rcbonitz.com

 

Val Muller

https://valmuller.com/blog/

 

Catherine A. MacKenzie

http://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

 

Kathy Price

(Website in development)

A few weeks ago, I attended (and presented at) the 2014 Pennwriters Annual Conference. First of all, it was great to be back in Lancaster, PA. I really missed Isaac’s pretzel roll sandwiches, and I snuck away long enough to have one.

But more importantly, networking with authors, editors, and agents helped me to better understand writing. For the aspiring writers out there, I thought I’d share some of what I learned:

Trends in Publishing

At the Pennwriters Conference, I was able to sign up for chats with literary agents, and I ended up sitting down for four ten-minute one-on-one sessions with four different agents. In addition, the agents sat for a Q&A session with authors during a panel session. Besides helping me see what goes into a compelling pitch, these sessions were helpful in teaching me about the publishing industry. For instance, traditional publishing seems to work in cycles–with agents and editors accepting current trends and shying away from other topics (though those topics are likely to resurface again in a few years). I also learned that it’s important to be able to “package” a concept in a way that is concise and easy to understand.

A Good Book is a Good Book

With that said, even the agents emphasized that it’s important to write what is inside you. If you write for current trends, by the time you’re ready to publish, the word will have moved away from those trends. For instance, vampires were popular about a decade before Twilight. They fell out of favor until Twilight resurrected them again, and now they are falling out of favor once more. But in a decade or so, when the world has had a chance to recover, they will be back. The bottom line is: a compelling read is a compelling read, regardless of what’s “in” at any given time. Agents kept repeating that: write what you’re passionate about. It reinforced something I’ve learned as a writer: write something you’re passionate about, and readers will follow. Readers can tell if an author is not genuine, or trying to be someone else, or just writing to get published. Write from the soul.

Never Stop Learning

Attending workshops presented by all levels of authors and publishers, I realized that writers should never stop learning. A few years ago, one of my teacher friends told me that all writers have a “thing.” Once a reader cracks “that thing,” all the author’s stories start to sound the same. This teacher friend told me that once she figures out an author’s “thing,” she stops reading that author. Many bestselling authors follow a similar formula for all of their books. While this obviously works for them, I wonder if it ever gets stale. For me, one of the joys of writing is constantly pushing myself and learning new things about my writing and my characters. Attending various workshops reminded me of different techniques and perspectives and motivated me to take a fresh look at my own writing.

I had a great time presenting. Naturally an introvert, when I step in front of a crowd and talk about something I’m passionate about, I blossom. One of the most rewarding moments was when a writer I had taught last summer in an online workshop introduced herself in person right before my presentation started. She thanked me for what I’d taught her during the online workshop and let me know that she has a book coming out soon. Knowing that in a small way, I helped her develop the skills she needed to finish that book and make it the best it could be put a smile on my face.

Teaching about writing is the perfect blend of my day job (teaching) and my passion (writing). Pennwriters asked me to teach another class this June (starting on June 9). For anyone interested, here is how to sign up:

Camera Angle Matters: Using Point of View and Indirect Characterization to Develop Your Writing

In this class, participants will examine how point of view can help shape a reader’s reaction to scenes and characters. They will examine techniques in indirect characterization and incorporate the techniques into their own writing. Participants can use a work in progress or create new characters and scenes for this workshop. All participants will receive a free one-chapter critique at the end of the class.

Week 1: POV
Week 2: Indirect Characterization using your main character and first person POV
Week 3: Indirect Characterization using other characters and third person POV
Week 4: Putting it all together: Using POV and Indirect Characterization to make your scenes work harder

To enroll:

  1. Go to www.pennwriters.org
  2. click on the “Learn” tab
  3. scroll to the bottom of the page and click on Details and registration are here.
  4. The Buy Now button is at the bottom of the page.

I looked everywhere for this book. It is out of print, and I had to find a used copy online. When I was a kid, my mom and I always used to check this book out of the library. It was my absolute favorite book because the concept of going barefoot in June represented to me absolute freedom.

A kid. Summertime. No shoes. No bedtime (sort of). No school. For someone as creative as me, I could entertain myself for a thousand summers, and it meant the start of an endless stretch of days that would allow me to do just that. It was during these summers that I started writing, and the books I read instilled a love of literature.

going barefoot

In the book, written in verse by Aileen Fisher and illustrated by Adrienne Adams, a boy is standing out on a cold, bleak March day, bundled up in the same types of things I had to bundle up in when growing up in cold Connecticut. He is asking his mother, who is handing him a pair of mandatory gloves, when he’ll be able to go barefoot. He asks, “How soon / how soon / is a morning in June, / a sunny morning or afternoon / in the wonderful month / of the Barefoot Moon? / I can go barefoot… as soon / as it’s June.”

His statement fills me with the nostalgia, the almost literal pain in my soul, as I long for a beautiful day, full of life and green and birds and sun, during a long winter stretch.

Through the middle of the book, the boy considers all the types of animals that can go barefoot all the time. He wonders why he has to wait until June and July before his feet can touch the grass.

In the end of the book, his mother flips the calendar, realizing that June has arrived, and of course–the boy is out the door enjoying the weather. I thought it was an appropriate book to review for today, the first week of June. I’m not sure about where you live, but here in Virginia, as my neighbor put it while walking her dog, “we could not have ordered a better day.”

And now, I’m going outside to enjoy some more of it.

And I’m going barefoot.

Today’s post comes from Kathy (with a “K”) L. Price. Her book, Down the nanoTubes, will be available soon. The prompt this time is to use the first line of a nursery rhyme or story as the first line

LOCAL GOSSIP ABOUT THE MUFFIN MAN

by Kathy Price

Do you know the Muffin Man? He’s the old guy who lives down on Drury Lane, in the little yellow house tucked way back in the woods. The one with the white picket fence out front.

He’s lived there alone for decades, but I heard he was engaged once, a long time ago. Just a day before the wedding, his fiancé died under mysterious circumstances. They’d worked together in the bakery and, according to the talk around town, were the perfect couple. She was pretty and smart, with a great sense of humor. He was handsome and polite with a quick wit and ready smile. The wedding was going to be THE big event of the year and everyone for miles around had been invited, including my Aunt Rose, who’s the one who told me the story.

The rumor was he’d closed the bakery the day before the wedding to make a fancy cake for their special day. He baked cookies, pies and other treats for the reception, which promised to be a celebration to remember. When he took a break in the evening, he was to pick Rose up at her parents’ house and take her out for dinner, their last “date” before becoming a married couple.

He knocked on her front door. There was no answer, so he peered in the window and saw her lying on the floor in the parlor. After calling her name and getting no response, he broke down the front door, raced to her side and found she had been stabbed. There was blood everywhere. According to his testimony, she was still alive when he found her. He cradled her in his arms. She looked into his eyes, lifted her hand to touch his face, said his name, and died.

Of course, there was a police inquiry. Some said what really happened was they had a fight and he killed her. Others thought it might just have been a robbery gone wrong. Some said Rose had been caught kissing the Muffin Man’s best friend the week before and it was he who had killed her, rather than see her marry another man.

The police were never able to prove anything, one way or the other. For a long time, the Muffin Man wouldn’t even go back into the bakery. After the inquest and his acquittal, though, he finally gathered the courage to do so. He cleaned up the bakery and threw out all the cookies, cakes and pies he’d baked for the wedding. He threw out the special cupcakes, the spun-sugar confectioneries, and rich, chocolaty fudge. He realized  life had to go on without Rose but from then on, he would make nothing but muffins, which were the only type of bakery product he hadn’t made for their reception.

They’re really good muffins, too.

 

The Spot Writers – our members:

 

RC Bonitz

http://www.rcbonitz.com

 

Val Muller

https://valmuller.com/blog

 

Catherine A. MacKenzie

http://www.writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter

 

Kathy L. Price

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